


my dreams are a cruel joke

by crooked



Category: Les Misérables (2012), Les Misérables - All Media Types, Les Misérables - Schönberg/Boublil, Les Misérables - Victor Hugo
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, M/M, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-31
Updated: 2013-08-31
Packaged: 2017-12-25 04:29:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 601
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/948640
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/crooked/pseuds/crooked
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The worst part of dreaming is waking up.</p>
            </blockquote>





	my dreams are a cruel joke

**Author's Note:**

> based on [semenjolras](http://semenjolras.tumblr.com/post/59827326346/grantaire-having-a-dream-where-enjolras-loves-him)'s ~~RUDE~~ headcanon. i'm so sorry.

"I love you, even though you are im _possible_ ," Enjolras says, and his smile is so beautiful Grantaire thinks his heart can't take it.

It's all his: this smile, this moment, this man, this side of Enjolras that's reserved for rainy Sundays in bed and lazy Thursday nights curled up on Grantaire's ratty old couch. This is Grantaire's Enjolras.

He must have a far-off look in his eyes because when Grantaire blinks and brings himself back into the present, Enjolras is just watching him with half-lidded, sleepy eyes, and he's smiling. Their faces are close, on the same pillow, and rebellious tendrils of golden hair have fallen loose from Enjolras' ponytail and spilled onto Grantaire's pillowcase. Before Grantaire can apologize for once again allowing himself to get lost in his thoughts of him, Enjolras leans into him and presses their lips together.

It never fails to amaze Grantaire how even the most chaste, closed-mouth kisses from Enjolras can send a shiver coursing along his spine. He supposes it's the shocking amount of tenderness, the way Enjolras' mouth can one moment ignite fires with the words pouring forth from it and in the next feel as soft as a feather against Grantaire's lips. Enjolras' hand reaches up to briefly frame Grantaire's jaw and then he kisses away, turning his back to Grantaire and grabbing his arm to pull across his body.

Grantaire happily complies and scoots up against him. He grins and nuzzles his nose against the back of Enjolras' shoulder, the skin warm and soft and _his his his_. "I love you, too, you know," he murmurs, belatedly, and he hears and feels the soft laughter shake through Enjolras' body.

"I know," he answers in a soft rush of breath. Grantaire can't say anything else because he doesn't trust himself to, and Enjolras falls silent, content in his arms. Breathing evens out, both his and Enjolras', and they're soon alseep, bodies curled together like two commas.

Grantaire wakes up after what seems like far too little sleep, as blissful as it's been. He doesn't open his eyes immediately, stretching a bit, humming and allowing himself a tiny smile. Enjolras is warm and pliant in his arms and Grantaire absently thinks that this is what it's like to be happy.

And then he opens his eyes.

The soft warmth in his arms isn't Enjolras but a pillow he'd clutched against his chest some time in the night. There's nobody in his bed but himself, no golden-haired beauty with love in his eyes lying beside him. _A dream_. It had been yet another cruel dream, Grantaire's own subconscious dangling happiness in front of him only to snatch it away when his fingers finally seem to have it within their grasp.

He pushes the pillow away from him and sighs, rolling flat onto his back to stare up at the ceiling to get his bearings. A humorless laugh escapes him and Grantaire shakes his head as he sits up, swings his legs over the edge of the bed. It never gets any easier, waking up from a dream of Enjolras loving him, kissing him, lying in bed with him. The coldness that replaces the warmth when he finds himself alone, as ever, never gets more bearable. Grantaire glances at the space Enjolras had occupied in his dream and realizes what folly it is to think that could ever be his.

This hollow feeling, he thinks as he stands and stretches and sets about to begin his day, is why he works so hard to not care. Caring has never lead to anything but heartache.


End file.
